


A Certain Proximity to Home

by weepingwillow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingwillow/pseuds/weepingwillow
Summary: It struck Merlin that home had never really been a place. Home was people.





	A Certain Proximity to Home

Home. That could mean anything, really, Merlin thought. When he was younger, before he’d discovered his destiny, home had been Ealdor. His world had been small. A collection of a few houses - hovels, really, compared to what he encountered in Camelot. A few fields of wheat, a common pasture for cows and sheep. Muddied pens where pigs were kept, out at the back of the village. A little wood where they would collect firewood and where, once they were finished with their chores, he and Will would play. He smiled just a little at the recollection.

 

Home had been his mother’s pottage, the persistent smell of manure, and his games with Will. They would pull pranks on the especially disapproving adults, Will would talk him into playing knights. Well, a knight and his wizard friend. That was before Will’s bitterness set in, and Hunith’s fear of discovery sent Merlin far from Ealdor, to somewhere his little inconsistencies could get lost in the vastness of the city.

 

And then home had been Gaius’ small back room, still a palace compared to his home in Ealdor. The stones had been cold, but they had kept out the draft, and there had been privacy. Somewhere to learn magic and to keep it hidden. It had been freedom like he’d never known before, but with that came a price. There were people to answer to. Things to answer for. Dragons in great caverns who spoke of destinies and responsibilities. And waking at dawn to see to serve an arrogant, entitled prince, and waiting up until moonlight to pick herbs for an aging court physician, and between the two sleeping less than a mouse. But it was good. It was right. It was home.

 

It had taken a few years, but slowly that too had changed. Arthur had changed, and that was the catalyst. He grew into his future, he developed his chivalry and his honour. And between him and Merlin, something grew. Something separate to their entwined fates. Something greater.

 

Home had become the fireside of the knights’ camp. Home was the throne room when Arthur was holding council. Home was Merlin’s place at the round table. Home was a canopied bed, decked out in red sheets, and the glorious man who held him close behind the curtains.

 

They had had everything. Merlin had laughed, too, to think that he had become the warlock he had played at with Will, keeping safe a man with a sword and a crown so that he could keep safe the rest of the world. It had been wonderful.

 

It had been far too short.

 

It struck Merlin that home had never really been a place. Home was people. His mother, Will, Gaius, Gwen, Arthur. Most of all, Arthur.

 

And in an instant, home was gone. Home had lost the light in his eyes, the breath in his mouth, the beat in his heart. Home was cold in his arms - floating steadily further from him - and finally six feet under. Merlin longed to lie there beside him, to stay close, even if there was no way that he could reach Arthur any longer.

 

Merlin felt it, as if it was true for him too. No light in his eyes, no breath in his mouth, no beat in his heart. He howled until there was nothing less to feel, the tears all cried, the anguish voiced until his throat went dry, his voice ragged.

 

And he waited. It surprised him, when death didn’t come. Only surprise at first, and then despair, and then hope. The world wanted him for something else, but the only thing the world had ever needed him for was keeping Arthur safe. Perhaps that meant that Arthur - it couldn’t be true, of course, Merlin had felt the life drain from his body - but perhaps it meant that Arthur was alive.

 

Perhaps today, Merlin thought. He opened his window and thrust his torso out into the space beyond the glass, turned to look at the narrow view of Avalon, framed between the buildings of the new housing estate on the green. He’d go down at lunch, he thought, and have lunch at the lakeside. And perhaps today, Arthur would come to him from the island.

 

He hoped he would be there when Arthur came. He had to sleep, he had to eat. Had to work, since people these days would not give hospitality to a warlock simply because of who he was. Merlin still had to keep a check on the world, too. Sometimes he’d travel great distances to right a wrong, to uphold Arthur’s legacy. Even then, though, he measured his position in the world by virtue of his proximity to home. Three hours from home, by bus. Seven hours from home by plane. Thirteen days from home by boat.

 

He hoped he would be there, hoped he’d have some sort of warning that Arthur was coming. He thought he would. Perhaps it would be today; he had a good feeling about today. 

 

Home was close, just across the surface of the lake. And one day, perhaps soon, home would come back for him.


End file.
